Chapter 385

Ambassador Morrison looked at me and asked, “Do you know something that I don’t?”

“Apparently,” I replied as I handed both of them a bullet-proof vest and a helmet.

We were belting in as the turbines were firing up. The Blackhawk had two, one on each side; that was why the thing sucked fuel like a dog. Seven dollars worth of fuel per mile; the 407s were a lot more fuel efficient.

But the Blackhawk could carry a lot more people and freight. The department requested Blackhawks at some sites and paid the bill - no questions asked.

The flight was and hour and fifteen minutes. Ambassador Morrison was on the Satellite phone talking to the field hospital as we approached.

Nimule was a third world town - by a big stretch of imagination - fourth of fifth world was more like it. It was dilapidated, poor and showing the ravages of decades of civil war. Sheets were attached to all sides of anything standing to get shade. There were hundreds if not thousands of pitched tents. The stench of feces and urine was everywhere; even from the air you could smell it.

I had made Camp Smith to look like a third world town; compared to this place the camp was the Hilton.

An old backfiring jeep made its way to us with a horde of people following. We had landed well away from the old Korean War M.A.S.H. tents. I did not want the rotor wash to blow them over or cover everything with the rancid dust.

Doctor Mengal Palermo climbed out of the jeep wearing a bloody gown and had a surgical mask dangling around his neck. Ambassador Morrison made the introductions and explained what and who.

I thought the doctor was going to shake my hand off. When I glanced up there was a ZNN reporter who looked as haggard as the rest of the people here and a camera man. I wondered why he was even in the area at all. Then I realized that the Sudan - Ethiopia - Congo wars was his assignment.

Boomer and Sidney had unloaded the generators into the back of the jeep along with a couple of the gas cans. It would take another trip to get the rest. Sidney stayed with the chopper and the pilots while the two ambassadors, Boomer and I walked behind the jeep.

I could hear their generator knocking and sputtering before we even got close. CPR and TLC were not going to help; it had the death rattles.

Boomer and I unloaded and carried the Honda and placed it next to the dying one. I checked the oil to make sure it was to the full mark and Boomer filled it with gas. A turn of the switch and it was running.

There were enough plugs for the electrical equipment they had; it put a lot of load on the generator but the Honda purred like a kitten. We put the other generator beside it and checked it out, then fired it up to make sure it would run.

We poured the gasoline in to a 55 gallon drum when the jeep made the return trip. There were several there and I shook them to see if they were full. They were, so they had enough gas to last several days at least.

By luck, the three of us were able to get a few minutes to talk to the medical staff. I asked, “How are you getting food? It looks like they are several thousand people here.”

“One of the aid agencies drops corn every few days, a couple times a month there are missionaries who drop off things. Every little bit helps but the kids are still starving,” Dr. Palermo replied.

“I was always told that corn was just filler, that kids needed something else to grow,” I replied. “Like soup to go with it.”

“If I had a can of Kamgells vegetable and beef soup to split between three kids just once a day, they would slowly get better instead slowly withering away,” he replied.

“Obviously meat and such are non existent and if you could get it, you have no way to store it,” I replied.

“It has to be canned or dry,” he replied.

“What is your water supply? I asked.